


Love and warfare

by Winxhelina



Category: Cabin Pressure
Genre: Alernative Universe, Angst, F/M, Historical Inaccuracy, Self-Doubt, vague descriptions of war
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-02
Updated: 2017-11-19
Packaged: 2018-09-06 01:45:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,747
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8729812
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Winxhelina/pseuds/Winxhelina
Summary: Theresa meets Martin in alternative timeline where he, in his desperate desire to become a pilot, has agreed to become pilot for the air force in war time, A career choice that doesn't really suit his gentle, hesitant nature.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I had immense difficulty in placing this storyline in the past believably so instead I've placed it in a not-so distant future or simply an AU present.

 

Theresa had always loved aviation, but now as she was walking through the cold grey building where long rows of planes stood, ready to fly off and fight terrible battles in bloody wars from above, she was seriously reconsidering her whole interest in them. Of course nothing could be done and it was not her decision to make whether or not these planes would fly to these battles. Instead, a monarch of a another country stood besides her, proudly, showcasing the jets to her. She knew better than to think that the decision to go to war was hers either, but she was at least somewhat glad that she could agree with it. She couldn’t imagine sending soldiers off to a war she did not approve of. Then again, she did not approve of the war in general.

“You seem quiet,” her companion noted.  
  
Theresa smiled a little, pleasant, but still distant: “It’s nothing. Your planes are – lovely.”  
  
“The pilots who fly them should be here any second. Would you like to meet them?” she offered.

 Theresa had no interest in meeting a vast number of people, most of whom would soon be dead, but she had no idea how to voice that thought: “I think I’ll go for a walk,” she said instead and wondered off. She realized for a moment that the cold, breezy, large factory building, built entirely for keeping artillery and jet fighters in, was an odd place to have a walk in. It was cold and distant, but the facility was fairly secret and no one who shouldn’t get in would get in, so she at the same time could feel quite safe.

Just when she was wondering what the hell she was doing, shivering and walking on cold concrete she distinctly heard someone sob and she thought that was a very odd thing to hear. All the people she had met, soldiers, generals, captains, even Her Highness who had invited her here, had been polite, but cold and distant. To hear such an emotional sound in a cold faraway facility was – odd to say the least. She followed it until eventually she found a man, in a pilot’s uniform, sitting in a corner against a radiator, crying his eyes out. She immediately felt sorry for him. She knelt down and sat down next to the stranger quietly, so silently in fact that he didn’t seem to notice her at all.

She waited for a while to see if he would calm down, but that didn’t seem to be happening so eventually she spoke quietly: “Do you want to tell me what’s wrong?” she asked very quietly. The man jumped and stared back at her with a pair of breathtakingly beautiful, if frightened blue eyes:”I – um I – I’m sorry, Madam – I,” the man kept stuttering without giving an actual answer to Theresa’s question. She smiled warmly: “It’s fine. I’m not here to scold you. You’re a pilot, aren’t you?”

“W-well, Y-yes. I’m supposed to st-start today. Not that I’ve never flown before! I have! Loads of times! I just – this is the first time I – we – we’re going to the -,”

She nodded as if he had made perfect sense: “You’re the most nervous person I’ve seen all day,” she said, kind and soft in her tone and yet sad. She had instantly grown to like him, but war, she thought, favoured the heartless. A nervous, sweet, sincere emotional man like him would not make it back alive and the firm knowledge of that filled her with endless sorrow.

He was blushing, looking away from him: “I know,” he said quietly, shrugging: “I’m a coward. The other pilot I fly with – he’s so confident and sure and – this really suits him better.”  
  
“Why did you become a pilot then?” Theresa asked, quiet and curious: “I’m pretty sure you have to sign up,” she didn’t understand how anyone could volunteer to go to their deaths like that.

The nameless pilot was quiet and then when he spoke he wasn’t looking at Theresa, but into the nothingness ahead and his voice was very quiet too: “I always wanted to be an airline Captain. Ever since I knew what a pilot was I wanted to be one. But I wasn’t very good – getting my license – it took me more than a few times and when I did no one would hire me. Then the war broke and I felt whatever chance I had of getting hired slip into nothingness as the economy failed. And then – I learnt that there was this – that I could get a bit more training and fight in the war as a pilot. I – I didn’t really care for that – I wanted to fly, I wanted to fly _very very badly_ I thought there was nothing I wouldn’t do to live my dream, but now – when I am about to…” he swallowed but it didn’t help him as he started to cry again: “I no longer want to. I’m a coward.”

Theresa listened and although the story was short and lacked nuances and details that there surely were in reality the man before him was so sincere that she could not help, but to feel moved: “You’re not. I think, in all the time that I’ve been here today you’re the only person I have met who has acted human. Who has acted the way I think a normal person would act when faced with a battlefield. Besides, you don’t seem to be the kind of person to go out kill others.”  
  
Martin winced at the pure mention of killing someone. Theresa wondered how he had made the cut. Were they that desperate for pilots? The young man looked up at her and smiled a very trembling weepy smile:”T-thanks. I think. I don’t think I could...”

Theresa thought that if he didn’t he would probably die very quickly, but she didn’t want to say that. She wasn’t sure she could either: “Can’t you get out of it? How did you even -,”

“It didn’t seem that real back then,” the man shrugged, eager to change the topic: “If you don’t mind me asking, Madam. Who are you? What are you going here?”

“The crown princess invited me to see her jets,” she smiled.

“Y-you know the crown princess of England?”

“Oh, yes. She – I’m princess Theresa of Lichtenstein.”

She regretted introducing herself instantly for he looked just as terrified then as he did when she first spoke to her and she placed a firm hand on his shoulder when he started muttering titles and creating space between them in blind panic: “Don’t do that. Please. I’m just the same as the rest in the end. What’s your name?”

“Martin Crieff, Your Royal Highness.”

Theresa smiled, a little sadly, this guy looked anything like a Flying ace. Martin seemed to have acquired mind-reading powers. He made a face: “I know. The war is lost. I’m dead,” he muttered, trying to smile as if he was joking, but looking as if he was just going to cry again.

“No, you won’t,” she assured, but it didn’t sound convincing even to her and she found herself wishing she had said nothing at all: “The war certainly won’t be lost because of you,” she tried, hoping it sounded like a joke.

  
When Martin seemed very unamused Theresa couldn’t blame her. What she had essentially just said was: _Sure, you will die, but the world won’t suffer for it._

“You haven’t seen the sort of blunders I am capable of making,” Martin said seriously as he leaned against the cold grey wall.

That made Theresa laugh, she looked up a handkerchief from her purse and handed it to Martin: “There. Wipe your eyes, straighten your back and…”

“Face my death?” the young man asked bitterly.

“You won’t die,” Theresa said, getting out a notebook, scribbling something down: “And the reason for that is that if you survive, you’ll be able to write to me and call me and see me again,” she explained, pulling out a page from her notebook.

Martin stared at the piece of paper in awe. Then he carefully folded it and ticked it away into his pocket safely, turning to look at Theresa, seeming painfully confused. Theresa only smiled like there was nothing to be confused about. She leaned in, kissed Martin on the cheek and gave him another encouraging smile: “Go on, the sooner you leave the sooner I’ll get to see you again.”  
  
Martin did, at least, look a little happier, a little more confident. Theresa watched him walk away, thinking _Please, just let him live. Only him. Please._ She supposed, if nothing else, she had sent him to battle hopeful and in high spirits. Wasn’t that what leaders did? The knowledge did little to cheer her up. She just wanted him to come back safe, wanted to see him, at least one more time.


	2. Love letters

Theresa was so happy when she received her first letter from Martin that she nearly cried. She would forever remember the morning that she got it, mainly because it was followed by a day of her oldest sister teasing her about it. She had stood in the parlour in her light pink dressing gown and let out a loud sound that could only be described as a squeal. Her sister had been looking over her shoulder curiously, which meant that Theresa had to take the letter, run to her room, lock the door and read it there. Despite the fact that no one besides Theresa knew the contents of the letters all of her siblings endlessly teased her about her “peasant crush”. Maxi had come up with the term and much to Theresa’s dismay it had stuck like glue and it seemed hopeless to ever hear anyone call Martin by his name now. She prayed they’d never call him that to his face if he came over.

 

Luckily all of that mattered very little to the princess who was falling hopelessly in love. She had never thought it to be possible for someone to sound very nervous over a written words and yet the pilot managed it flawlessly. It even somewhat reflected in his handwriting, small and narrow, yet very neat and pretty. The amount of sentences crossed out in the first letter exceeded those that were left as they were and Martin spent a good amount of the letter explaining how he is failing at writing it. Still, it brought a smile on the face of the crowned head.

 

Theresa supposed there were faster, more efficient means of keeping contact than letters and she had to admit that between each and every one she sent to Martin at their base she feared that the next would not come and instead she would be sent word of the passing of the pilot she found herself in love with. Yet, Theresa also found letters to be the most romantic means of contact. That and perhaps the most certain one too, she did not have Martin’s number and even if she had and even if she could catch him at a time at which he could talk the lines did not always work these days. Internet, too, had seen much better days. So, in the end, letters might have been the best means anyways.

 

Martin’s letters rarely mentioned the horrors of the war and Theresa wondered if he tried to spare her as much as he could or try and forget them himself. Instead he spoke of people at the base, giving a lot of mention to the pilot he worked with, Douglas Richardson. Theresa went back and forth between deciding that the man was a horrible bully to Martin and thinking they had a friendly teasing healthy sort of relationship. She did a fair bit of teasing in her replies herself, unable to help it. She liked to think Martin didn’t mind. The young pilot’s letters often made her laugh and she tried to convince herself she was laughing with him and not at him.

_My dearest Theresa_ , Martin’s third letter had began and Theresa was secretly thrilled that he no longer tried to add all of her official titles at the very beginning.

_I have written so many drafts of this letter that they have flooded the desk. This also means Douglas has picked up a few and attempted to read them out loud to the whole cafeteria. I am writing this_ _over_ _lunch, because I fear I will not have time to write a reply to you at any other time soon. And I always want to reply to you as soon as possible, Your Highness._

 _Anyway, you needn_ _’t worry about me missing out on any nutrition. At least not because I’m writing this. The food is inedible anyways. Arthur has prepared it for us. He’s a lovely lad, ~~very bright~~ ,sweet and helpful indeed, but how he has put in charge of preparing our meals is entirely beyond me. Actually, I think it has something to do with the positions of his parents. They are both at work here, although there was a horrible divorce – not that I wish to get gossipy. I don’t, really. I can’t, really._

_I’m running out of time, because I’ve spent half the time writing this arguing with Douglas about how I need to write it. He’s married for the third time right now, you see and he thinks he knows all about relationships for that reason. Actually, he seems to think he knows just about everything just about everything so something else might be the reason for that. I regret that I must leave you. By the way Douglas insisted that I refer to you as “my dearest Theresa” instead of quote:”That gibberish title nonsense. No girl would ever find that attractive.” Anyway, if you are offended by that, it’s all entirely on him. I know better than to think I should ever be lucky enough to call you mine. Although Douglas seems to think we’re a couple and you’re my girlfriend. ~~Are you my girlfriend?~~_

_Forgive me again for being so brief, I look forward to your next letter_

_Martin Crieff_

Theresa looked at the letter and found so many things wrong with it. First, as Martin had pointed out himself, it was unbearably short. It only filled up a single page. Second, she could not stand that the man was that uncertain of her affections. It needed to be fixed. If the man would have her as his girl she would surely be one, brief as their acquaintance had been. Hell, her second boyfriend ever had simply walked up to her in a bar and proposed to buy her a drink. Granted, it had been one of the worse relationships of her life, but these things happened all the time.

 

So Theresa pulled some strings to organize herself a tour of the base Martin was located at. It was easy enough. She knew the crown princess well enough to manage it all in a quick phone call. At first everything went superbly, she made it to the kitchen area where many pilots and staff were having lunch. She liked that they had timed it so perfectly. Now she could always look back at Martin’s letter and remember exactly how the place looked. Her arrival was announced to everyone and she enjoyed the look on everyone’s faces as they stood, but Martin’s undoubtedly wearing the most endearing expression of them all. She grinned ruefully at him as his mouth practically hung open. She could deduce from expressions alone the identity of Douglas Richardson, sitting across from him, looking like he was ready to tease Martin until the poor boy blushed to death.  

 

It was then, that for a moment things seemed to get troublesome as one of the people in charge of the tour simply said: ”Well, there is not much else to see here, Your Highness, let us move on.”

 

Theresa could not disagree more. There was much more that she wanted to see her, namely she would not settle for some 10 seconds of looking at Martin: “Maybe not, but there might be something to taste. I’d like to stay here and join these lovely men and women for lunch,” she said with the sort of confidence that she hoped, could not be argued with. Someone dropped a large metal container and let out a shriek of what Theresa identified as horror, because of that event the kitchen floor quickly flooded over with quite a lot of some grey gooey sauce. Theresa ignored that and all the other sounds of surprise in the room, making a bee-line for Martin before anyone dared to argue with her: “May I sit here?” she asked.

Martin’s nod was as stiff as if he had never met her and she couldn’t decide if that offended her a tiny bit or not. She sat by his side and smiled warmly, while placing a napkin on her lap. Martin leaned in to speak to her quietly: “What are you doing here, Your Highness?”

 

“What do you think, genius? I’m here to see you or did you truly think I wanted to try the food that you in your letter described as inedible?

 

Martin seemed to need a moment to let that sink in and in that moment a pair of shaking hands someone placed a plateful of something in front of Theresa that she thought fit Martin description perfectly.

“I would not eat that if I were you, Your Highness. No one will hold it against you,” Martin spoke under his breath.

 

Theresa leaned in to whisper into his ear, hoping the act was not too explicitly obvious as everyone were staring at them anyways: “But I have to. It’s my excuse for sticking around.”

The man Theresa had identified as Douglas Richardson spoke, clearly identifying the source of the problem. He cleared his throat and spoke in a quiet, yet clear and fairly authorative tone:” Your Highness, I dare to recommend you the salad portion of the meal. And the bread will likely also be – bearable, if you’d like I’m sure you could be provided with some butter.”

 

Both Martin and Theresa looked at Douglas with a look of gratitude and she set to eat those portions of the meal as slowly as humanly possible.

 

“How do you not starve to death?” Theresa asked Martin quietly.

 

“Arthur doesn’t cook every day and you can fill up on the bread on the days he does. Plus I’m quite used to feeding myself on a limited budget,” Martin seemed to regret that last truth instantly as he blushed and cast down his eyes.

 

“That’s a rather useful trait,” Theresa commented, settling her hand on Martin’s knee, in an attempt to be both flirty and comforting. Martin, however, was so startled by this course of events that his knee jerked sharply and he hit it against the table loud enough to render all the plates into musical instruments.

 

“Smooth,” Douglas commented, quietly, but loud enough for the pair to hear. Theresa was focused on keeping a straight face through all this and not giggling like a lunatic.

 

“You know,” Theresa began, attempting to change the subject: “As far as letters go calling me Theresa is just fine. In the company I am with it might cause you trouble, but I am most fine with it.”

 

Martin nodded and smiled shyly, but instead it was Douglas who spoke:”Oh! Highway to Hell!”

 

“We’re not playing a game now!” Martin practically hissed through his teeth.

“Oh? You’re playing a game. What game?” Theresa asked with all the curiosity in the world.

 

Martin dropped his eyes and introduced the royal princess of Lichtenstein to one of many word games that he and Douglas had taken up. She joined in eagerly and felt a little bad when she beat her boyfriend by 11 points. Still, all was apparently good as long as she managed to beat Douglas too.

 

It was a much harder challenge to find a way to get Martin alone with her for a moment. It pretty much involved both of them running off for a moment, she, when the tour finally ended and him a bit sooner to wait for her. They had agreed to meet in the very same spot they first had. It was random enough that no one would find them and special enough for both of them to remember it.

 

Theresa was fidgeting, twisting her hands a bit. She knew she only had a few minutes to tell Martin what she wanted, but she didn’t just want to throw it at him and leave: “I had fun today. Well. For the part that I got to be with you,” she admitted, smiling softly.

 

Martin nodded: ”So did I, Your Highness.”  
  
She winced a bit: “I thought we clarified – you don’t have to call me that.”

 

“Sorry, so did I - I’m glad you came…Theresa.”

 

“There’s something I wanted to tell you. Something I wanted to clarify. About what you said about me being your girlfriend- …”

Martin paled and started arguing fiercely, before Theresa was finished:”Oh! No, no, no no… I wasn’t saying you are! I never would. That’s – I know you’d never be with anyone like m – “

 

Theresa stopped Martin before he could get any further: “I would be honoured to be.”

 

Despite her words being clear and confident Martin seemed to be having trouble understanding her. He was staring at her with his mouth hanging open slightly: “W-what? Y-you would?”

 

“Yes. I’d like to be.”  
  
Martin’s face brightened, a smile decorating his flushed features: “Okay. Yes. Deal. I mean – Good. Okay. Good.”

 

She smirked, the way Martin got horribly flustered was adorable: “I’d like you to come to the castle sometimes. When you can.”

 

He nodded “Okay. I’d loved to,” Martin replied. When he thought about it later he was glad he had answered that without thinking, because once he did, he was terrified of the idea.

 

Theresa paused, waiting, hoping that Martin would take a chance as things were. She didn’t like to think about it, but this, realistically, might have been the last she ever saw of him. However it seemed that even in a situation where they might never see each other again Martin wasn’t going to take a risk and kiss her. She supposed she liked that. If she wanted, she could, after all, take it herself. She leaned into the man gently and kissed him on the cheek. Telling herself that they could take this at a normal pace. That it didn’t need to be rushed if rushing didn’t feel natural. She smiled back at Martin, who was smiling warmly and fondly.

  
“I need to go,” she whispered.

 

Martin didn’t say anything. He nodded and this time around he watched her go, praying he would be able to see this lovely magnificent woman who had said she _wanted to be his girlfriend_ again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for all the nice comments. They really motivated me to carry on. I have a lot of ideas for this to come and I hope everyone who made it to this line enjoyed it! Thank you.


	3. The night in the castle

Martin was lost. A situation which he well understood was ridiculous. He was in a micro state for goodness’s sake, looking for a castle where the royal family lived! However every time he tried to ask someone where it was, people would either  
a) Speak German or  
b) Speak English, but then think he was a tourist. An opinion to which he tried to argue against, ending up explaining it to the people that he was off to see the princess. That was usually when people started laughing and left him.  
Martin was about to settle for being mistaken for a tourist, after all, he couldn’t quite believe Theresa had invited him either, when he finally caught sight of the castle and started going towards it.

Back in the castle the abovementioned princess was loosing her royal mind over the matter. She was pacing up and down the corridor: “What if there was a blitz?”

“We’d know if there were a blitz,” her sister tried to soothe her: “Frankly, your earlier theory about him dying on his mission this morning makes more sense. The weather conditions were awful.” she said, unhelpfully.

“Yeah, except that he sent me a message that all flights for the day since then were cancelled due to horrible weather!” Theresa snapped, but she still sounded quite like she might still consider it a possibility.

“Well, maybe a train accident then? He did come by train, didn’t he?”

“You’re being stupid,” Theresa concluded and sat on her bed.

“I’m not the one in love with some peasant pilot,” the blond princess muttered and left the room. Just as she had gotten down the stairs, she noticed a very wet man in the pilot’s uniform who the butler was showing in.

The man was shaking quite visibly, clearly if the weather in England was anything like it was in Lichtenstein there were plenty of reasons to cancel all flights:”H-hello, I’m l-looking f-for Theresa,” Martin explained, quite glad that he could blame his nervous stutters on the freezing cold out.

“Your stuttering peasant is here!” the blond girl cried, greeting Martin: “Hello, I’m Helena.”

“Oh, y-you have t-the same n-name as m-my co-pilot’s wife,” Martin pointed out, thinking that could hardly be a positive sign.

“I told you not to call him that!” Theresa shouted, running downstairs. She flung herself into Martin’s arms, hugging him so that the man made a bit of a squishy sound, like a sponge.

Martin was more than a little surprised by such a welcome: “Hi. I’m going to get you wet.”

“Oh I think you’ve done that with your letters,” Helena commented, loud enough for both parties to hear, causing Martin to blush so hard that his face matched the tone of his hair. Theresa gave up her hug and turned to glare viciously at Helena.

“I – I didn’t mean anything so vulgar!” Martin corrected eagerly.

“I know. My sister is an idiot,” Theresa pointed out helpfully, taking Martin’s hand gently: “Come on. Let’s get you of these wet clothes.”

“Dear God, get a room you two, before you start stripping!” their online commentator added.

“We will!” Theresa replied, rather snappily.

“She is a bit like Douglas through,” Martin was forced to admit: “He’s been teasing me about you ever since – well, ever since he found out you existed.”

Theresa giggled and pulled Martin along. She showed him into his room. The castle was huge and as much as Theresa would have loved to spend every second in Martin’s company she didn’t want him to feel pressured. In her mind she of course thought of them spending an incredibly romantic night together, talking and making passionate love. She wondered if something was wrong when she realized Martin had been staring at the room she had guided the wet man in for nearly two full minutes.

“You can – change here and sleep here,” she explained, a little unsurely.

“Alone? I’m not kicking anyone out of their room am I?” he asked, equally unsure.

“No! No – this is the guest room.”

“Really? It’s – well, huge.”

“Is it?” Theresa asked unsurely. She didn’t want to seem like a rich girl who had lost touch with reality, but this was one of the smallest rooms in the castle.

 

“Well, you’re a princess, of course so – maybe not to you…” Martin blushed.

Theresa laughed quietly: “Now I feel self-conscious about showing you my room.”

“No! No, no I’m sure your room is lovely!” Martin protested as quickly as he possibly could.

A bit of an awkward silence followed and Theresa quickly rushed to fill it to change the topic: “Well, make yourself comfortable, you can shower and do whatever you’ll like and afterwards you can come and see my room. It’s the first door to the right when you go down the stairs.”

With those words she closed the door and left Martin to gather himself and get ready as she descended down the stairs to wait for him. She knew that waiting for someone you liked was always a rather painful doing, but Martin was really taking ages. To the point where she thought the man might have gotten scared and left.

Theresa had gotten the whole room prettied up with light in the fireplace and some candles and she had brushed her hair and gotten dressed and waited for ages playing Solitaire with herself and her pilot was nowhere to be seen. There had been a moment when she had been sure that someone was coming to her door, but it must have been a false alarm.

When a whole hour and a half had passed Theresa got up and went to the door, only to find Martin standing behind it.

“How long have you been here?” she asked, surprised: “I didn’t hear you knock.”

“I didn’t. Not yet… I wasn’t sure if I had the right door,” he scratched the back of his neck: “Sorry, this all feels very – real.”

“It is real,” Theresa pointed out. She might have argued and said that it felt unreal to her, but she didn’t.

“I know,” Martin didn’t feel like collaborating on what his sentence had meant and Theresa simply stepped away and let him in.

Martin peeked inside without actually stepping in: “This is … very nice.”

“Thanks. Come in.”

Martin still seemed very hesitant to do that, but eventually he took a careful step into Theresa’s quarters: “It’s very…pretty.”

The royal head smiled, but she still wasn’t overly pleased with how tense Martin was. She had no idea what to do about that either.

“I like your shirt,” she finally admitted, she did. The fading image of an passenger airplane was nice and it was a reminder that what Martin really wanted to do was be a commercial pilot and that this career in the army was an only a pathetic shadow of the dream he really desired. Martin seemed to blush at the unexpected compliment: “It’s really old…” he muttered, sitting down at the large bed and looking around himself.

Theresa shrugged: “It’s wartime. I’d be a terrible person to point out the state of your clothes.”

Martin didn’t bother pointing out that his wardrobe hadn’t looked new and shiny since he had been 17. He also didn’t mention that even when everything in this room wasn’t shiny and new it was at the very least expensive.

Theresa was an excellent conversationalist. She could hold up any conversation, could steer it away from topics that she could tell her partner didn’t enjoy and into things they did, could always manage to stay curious without being invasive. Martin however was a bit more observant than most people gave him credit for: “You don’t have to do that. You don’t have to listen to me go on and on about aviation. I know I get carried away,” he said when he realized he had been explaining a particular runway layout to her for the past 15 minutes and she still looked interested. Surely she must have been faking it.

Theresa shrugged: “I find it enjoyable.”

Martin looked at her and tried to separate truth from flirtation: “But you are curious about other things too. My family. You perked up a bit when I mentioned my father, but you didn’t ask, because I mentioned his death.”

Theresa looked up: “Quite a Sherlock Holmes, aren’t you?”

Martin blushed at that: “No, no… I just – I do pay attention sometimes.”

“Fine. Tell me about your family then.”

The conversation flowed from there and both Martin and Theresa went on to share funny stories about annoying siblings and childhood accidents. Theresa only noticed how late it had gotten when she realized Martin had his eyes shut when he spoke to her. He was desperately trying to pull his eyelids open, but was failing to do so. Theresa chuckled: “Martin, you can go to bed. You must be exhausted. It’s late.”

Martin shook his head violently and once he got his eyes open he pointed out that he was in bed.

“Well, you can stay here too if you’d like,” Theresa agreed.

“Is that not… a little weird of me?” the fact that Martin didn’t even blush told Theresa that the man must have been exhausted.

“Not a bit,” she assured. It was truly incredible how little time it took for Martin to fall asleep after that. Seconds, Theresa thought.

The man made up all of his missed out blushing the next morning when he discovered he had spent the night cuddled up with a real-life princess. Theresa assured him it was fine. She was reluctant to let him go without so much as a kiss, but them lying in bed together seemed a little too suggestive. So she waited for the right moment.

The weather had improved good bit, both in England and Liechtenstein and Martin got called back to his duties later that morning. This both made Theresa sad and reminded her that every time they parted could be their last. So when Martin stood on the doorstep of her castle, ready to walk into the damp morning she reached up and brushed her lips against his. Infuriatingly, the man could either not take a hint or still thought he wasn’t worthy of her or something of the sort. Maybe he thought kissing her back would be pushing it, but she _wanted to be kissed back._  He looked happy enough when Theresa pulled away from him. Happy and much more surprised than Theresa would have liked him to be after such a long night of heartfelt chatting and falling a sleep together. Still, she supposed her pushing it was selfish.

Martin noticed the sadness in her features and tried to comfort her: “Don’t worry Your Highness. I promise to return to you shortly,” It was the first time either of them had addressed the fact that they might not come out of this alive and it did nothing to soothe Theresa’s anxiety. It felt like pressing their good luck, but she didn’t say anything of the sort. Instead she watched Martin leave her castle only to never to return.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No, of course this isn't it. Upcoming drama in the next chapter. I will explain what happened there. It will have Douglas for those of you who missed him, but Martin will clearly be there too...  
> Thanks for everyone who read this far. I'm sorry this one took a while to get up.


	4. Death

Martin had changed after his second encounter with the lovely princess, an encounter, which he dared not to call a date, despite Theresa’s most encouraging words about him being her boyfriend. It was a subtle change, Martin was still shy, timid and fearful, but he seemed more determined now. Before he had never even considered coming out of this in anything other than a body bag, now, he had something to live for besides the thrill of being able to be a pilot, not exactly how he wanted, but still. Now, each new day meant that there was a chance of getting a letter from Theresa, one that, if he died, he might not get. Martin was determined to get through the war. What he was going to do afterwards, he did not know. One big thing at the time.

Of course, eventually there had to become a point where he needed to do some actual killing. Granted, not with his bare hands, but Martin wasn’t the type to take any lives, with any methods. That put a bit of a dent into his determination. Realistically, he knew that it had been an absolute miracle he had managed to only go on missions where the main goal was to observe or track other planes and see where they were flying off. These were the things that Martin almost enjoyed, but an air raid? That was a different deal entirely. It terrified Martin.

At first, it was almost fine. The shock of it made him go a little numb and there was a shaking in his hands that wouldn’t stop, but he tried to push past that, tried to put it in a dark place in his mind and be brave, even if he had never been terribly brave. He pushed away Douglas’s worryingly serious sounding inquires about how he was feeling and claimed to be okay.

He only had to admit he wasn’t when he had nightmares so violent and terrifying they made him scream out loud in the darkness. He didn’t know this, of course until someone familiar was shaking him awake.

“Martin?” Douglas’s voice was soft, yet urgent, the room around them was dark and Martin could feel his face was wet against the soft pillow.

“I’m sorry, did I wake you?” he asked and could hear his voice being laced with tears. There was no denying the fact that he wasn’t fine now.

“Only me and the rest of the household...” Douglas said softly and there was something affectionate and compassionate in his tone. Martin didn’t know how to cope with the fact that his normally teasing and perhaps a bit insensitive co-pilot was rubbing his shoulder in an effort to soothe him. He curled in on himself a tiny bit and fell quiet.

Martin didn’t remember falling back asleep or how the night ended, but he remembered that on the next morning there were pancakes that Arthur had made and that had been surprisingly decent. They had either found the one thing Arthur was good at cooking or he had had some help. Martin suspected the latter based on the bit of flour on Douglas’s sleeve when he joined Martin with his oatmeal a little later.

Martin sighed, everyone here took such good care of him, but it made him feel a bit like a child. He was supposed to handle this. He had come here and was meant to do his duties.

His tone in his letters to Theresa varied from forcibly bright and happy letters that desperately tried to entertain her and make her laugh to heartfelt, yet terrifying confessions as he unveiled the darkest parts of his mind for her to see, only to try to pull the curtain back closed. They were frantic in nature and almost poetic in their style. A quality, which Martin definitely lacked when addressing his feelings in person. While many of those letters never reached our princess, in the end there were more of those of desperate confessions than those that we’re plastered on smiles.

_I really have no right to complain, because at least I don’t have to witness their deaths down below. I never witnessed anyone dying in the battlefield near me and yet – is it not strange that I have dreams of these people? Of people I have never met? I have only managed to have such a terrible task once and yet it will never leave me! It will haunt me to my death, which at this rate could come sooner rather than later._

Whether they terrified Theresa or simply left her speechless Martin did not know, but her replies were definitely getting shorter. This terrified the young pilot so that he would write long letters apologizing profusely for his outspokenness, but often the same letter would end up containing equal amounts of sadness and sorrow as the previous.

 

_Dearest Theresa_

_I apologize for my earlier outburst. I didn’t want to concern you and I definitely can’t expect you to be there just to cheer me up. As you said in your last letter – war is terrifying for all and no one really knows what to expect of it. You put it much more elegantly of course. Your every word is so beautifully picked that even those short replies from you make me happy. I have scared you off, haven’t I? Or worse, you have finally become bored of me and simply want our burdening correspondence to end. I’m so sorry. If that is the case I promise never to write another dark word and only speak of the beautiful things around me! If there are none I promise I’ll make them up or will keep myself from writing to you. Even if writing to you is the only thing that keeps me, if not happy than at least somewhat sane. Please, please, Your Highness, do keep writing to me._

_Yours truly,_

_Martin Crieff_

“You’re actually not going to send that? I mean, it’s dripping with desperation and it’s not much brighter than your last letters,” Douglas pointed out. He had been reading this over Martin’s shoulder who was now blushing so profusely that he could have easily been confused with a tomato.

“I don’t need your advice on this Mr. Three-Times Married!”

This was generally how even the darkest of Martin’s letters got posted, out of defiance and unwillingness to take relationship advice he hadn’t even asked for. Theresa’s reply, however, was longer, much to Martin’s surprise.

_My dearest Martin_

_I apologize for the brevity of my replies. It is only due to the fact that there are only so many comforting words one can give in a situation like this. Even when one has been trained to give comforting speeches in a dire situation. I’m sorry and wish I could do better, but thankfully I am neither your Queen nor your princess, but your girlfriend. For that reason I wish that you were here, so that I could hold you in my arms and kiss you. So that I could rid you of that uniform that has brought you so much pain and take you to my bed instead. I would kiss your bare marble-like soft skin. Oh, how I long to touch it and feel it beneath my fingertips. Martin, my love,..._

Martin had to stop reading and run from the public dinner area to his own room, blushing furiously as he finished reading Theresa’s incredibly descriptive lengthy  account of how she would comfort her boyfriend. It was beautiful, but it also meant that it was his turn not to know what to say – all things considered - _Theresa was a princess!_ Was he allowed to write stuff like that about her? He felt a little guilty just thinking about it. Although he did recall her letter quite often. Even if Martin had allowed himself to write things like that he was sure they would come out more awkward and embarrassing than beautifully erotic and the kind that made one’s body and soul ache with longing as Theresa’s letters did.

Therefore Martin kept his reply incredibly short and perhaps a bit too polite given the circumstances. He wondered if he had insulted her in doing so and almost wrote her a note that told her he didn’t mind her letter and hoped she would write many more like this, but didn’t know how to put that in proper words. It terrified him to think that, because of his poor reply to Theresa’s incredible piece of writing, he may never hear from her again.

He was still stressing about it even as he was flying after some Russian unmarked planes with Douglas and therefore he hadn’t noticed his co-pilot being unusually quiet. Martin liked these sorts of assignments, simply following another plane’s route to see where they were headed. There were times, of course, even in these situations, where you had to take action, but mostly the Russians simply did a lot of taunting.

“We’re flying over Liechtenstein,” Martin noted merrily as if that was to give him an excuse to take his parachute and simply jump out of the plane and visit his beloved girlfriend.

When Douglas remained quiet, Martin finally noticed: “Hey, you’ve been unusually quiet this whole flight.”

“You haven’t heard then?” Douglas asked and the darkness in his voice gave way to chills that ran down Martin’s body.

“Haven’t heard what?” Martin asked. It was then that he noticed a trail of smoke in the air. It was somehow ominous even if Martin had seen many more like it in the months that had passed.

“There was a blitz. They completely destroyed the Royal Palace.”

Martin grew cold, pale and very quiet:”Did a-any – did they make it out alive?”

“There is yet to be an official report about that.”

When Martin didn’t say anything to that Douglas simply asked:”Do you want me to take over?”

“ _Please.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for leaving this here like that, but at least it motivates me to carry on, because if I don’t you’ll all be left in the unknown about Theresa’s death. Originally this chapter was only supposed to start here, but I think this is better in regards of flow and quality. I hope that you are still with me. I’ll try to be quicker with my next installment.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahh! I bet you thought I had forgotten this and given up, didn't you? Well, I found my muse again it seems.

„You’ll wear a hole into that letter and it’s only been a few hours,” Martin couldn’t tell if Douglas was trying to give genuine advice on something or if he was teasing, because of how careful he sounded. He had been hovering around the man ever since they got off their flight and really, if Martin had had _any_ emotional capacity left at all he would have been grateful. Besides Arthur, who was awfully nice to everyone really, Martin didn’t have anyone like a friend here besides Douglas. So the older man’s company was appreciated even if it included some teasing. 

Martin could feel his face being red and swollen from all the crying. How bad would it actually be when there was some proof of her death he did not know. He curled in on himself and whimpered.

“How did you qualify for this I’ll never know,” Douglas admitted grimly from the edge of Martin’s bed where he sat.

“I-I-I’ll l-let you k-know w-when I f-find out,” Martin sobbed through his tears even though Douglas hadn’t been expecting an answer.

Eventually even Douglas seemed to grow bored or simply tired of watching over Martin, but he wasn’t heartless enough to leave the man to his own devices. Instead, he sent Arthur to babysit when there was no kitchen duty to be on. Martin had to admit that the constant perky chatter was more tiring than it was uplifting, but at least it was better than loneliness.

Martin really hadn’t been paying much attention to what Arthur was saying. It had been something to do with a trip to the zoo and Martin thought there had been rather a lot said about polar bears for the last fifteen minutes or so. He cut in with a completely different topic: “Arthur… where’s Douglas?”

“Oh – Oh he went on a flight hours ago!” Arthur provided happily.

“W-with whom?” Martin started to wonder if perhaps Douglas had been assigned with a more capable partner as the one he had was currently weeping in bed and had never been that competent to start with.

“No one. He went alone. Said it was a short thing and he’ll be fine.”

That surprised Martin. Had Douglas not wanted to disturb him? Had thought he’d be more of an hindrance than help? Martin sat up: “I should have gone too.”

“I’m sure he’ll be fine. It’s Douglas after all…” Arthur seemed completely unconcerned. Martin had noticed before that the sweet naïve boy seemed to nearly think of him as some sort of a superhero who could not be defeated. Martin argued that this was all very much besides the point, but regardless of that Arthur had proven to be right. Douglas returned in very high spirits and seemed happy to see Martin actually sitting up and wearing a different sort of expression: “You can’t just run off on me like that! Besides you’re not even supposed to be allowed to do that! How did you manage?”

Douglas simply shrugged and changed the subject by handing Martin a plain white envelope with nothing but his name and address marked upon it:”This came for you.”

“Martin recognized the handwriting immediately and his breath almost caught in his chest as he unfolded the letter. There it read:

 

_My dearest Martin_

_I offer you my sincerest apologies if the news of what has happened has reached your ear and you have therefore been left wondering of whether or not I survived. I am quite sure that you will have heard however and if you haven’t I do not wish to discuss this on paper. I hope you found my latest letter pleasing. I never got a reply and I regret that and it does make me anxious to wonder if in my attempts to make your day a happier one I might have overstepped some boundaries._

_However if we wish to keep this correspondence alive you will need my new address. Please keep your letter simply addressed to Theresa or even better would be, no one at all. My family and I will lay low for a little while, but at least there will be plenty of opportunities for me to write to you._

_Yours truly,_

_Theresa_

Martin would not settle for a written reply. He was so overcome with emotion and had so much to tell Theresa. Things he could not possibly express on paper. Things that needed to be said in person. Things that needed to be _done_ in person. This was his chance to redeem himself. Theresa would never know of his awkward, stupid, flustered reply, but that hardly matter at all compared to the much more important knowledge. Theresa was safe. She was fine and Martin needed to see that with his own eyes before he could truly believe it.

Martin had always thought Douglas to be a man of dubious morals, but for a moment, his rule-breaking nature came in incredibly handy. He really had no problem in the slightest, getting them both assigned on a mission that conveniently flew past Theresa’s new hiding spot, drop Martin off, and assure him that he would be fine on his own for the rest of the mission. The conversations were never recorded on those sorts of military missions. It meant that when something happened to the plane or the pilots no one would know what. Or of what they talked about in their final hours. Not the allies, but also not the enemy. Right now however, it meant that no one would know of Martin’s little detour to see Theresa. 

The small house where the royal family hid was conveniently located right next to a large field where landing was, not at all easy, but possible for the likes of Douglas Richardson. The man so enjoyed a challenge. Martin, did not enjoy a rough landing, especially when he was not the one managing the plane. However, he did perfectly well understand that they could not request a permission to land at some proper airfield. That would raise more questions than even Douglas could come up with creative answers to.

After thanking his partner for his help (and getting them back on land alive) Martin made his way through the field, silently apologizing to whoever owned these crops and would now consequently have a lot of them ruined because of him and Douglas.

The small house, on the edge of the forest was so tiny and miserable looking Martin wondered if he had the right place at all. When the castle had left Martin in awe and feeling unworthy, this made him feel sorry for his beloved princess. Really, it didn’t look much better than the shabby place Martin had rented before the war. He swallowed and mourned his lover’s loss. The extent of which had not been so clear to him through her loving letter. Even if the entire royal family had made it out alive they had lost their beautiful home.

And Theresa had quite a few sisters for whom it must undoubtedly be difficult to share such narrow quarters with when they had been used to having their privacy. Martin had a sister and a brother too. He knew how important it was to have one’s own space.

Shaken and more hesitant now, Martin approached the tiny building and knocked on the door. He heard no reaction and thus thought his knocking might have been a little too quiet and knocked again. This time he heard people inside move, orders being given and even – furniture being moved? Martin didn’t get a chance to wonder about what was going on behind the closed door any longer as it was thrown open and a middle-aged lady, dressed in a gown far too luxurious for such humble destination. Sure, it might not have been all covered in diamonds, nor was it a ball gown, but one could tell it was tailored by a designer, exclusively to suit the woman wearing it and it was by no means a cheap mass-produced product. 

Not that Martin had any time admiring the clothes. He was far more occupied with the rifle that was now poking him. In hindsight, coming in his uniform may have been a poor choice. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I know. I am leaving you with yet another cliffhanger. It is all in the hopes that I will come back to it once more. Hopefully before almost another year rolls by.

**Author's Note:**

> I originally intended leaving this here as a oneshot, but I've had so much fun writing it I think i will continue it. Hopefully some of you will have actually read to this point and will leave a comment too - Thank you!


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